


Shoot and Score

by tinycecropia



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: F/F, Lesbian Character, side baekxing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 08:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13899825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinycecropia/pseuds/tinycecropia
Summary: Chanyeon plays forward on her high school's hockey team. She's been receiving secret admirer notes in her locker, and she has a feeling that the person leaving them is a girl.





	Shoot and Score

Chanyeon’s high school was about the same as any other public school across the country in that it boasted speckled floor tiles, yellowish fluorescent lights, and painted cinderblock walls that held hundreds of kids who probably didn’t want to be there. Chanyeon, in her senior year, liked being at school. It gave her an excuse to see her friends, first of all, and she admitted to herself that she liked the opportunity to learn new skills.

One of the skills she was trying to hone recently had a lot to do with the reason she found herself excited to walk through the heavy double doors of the school’s front entrance; she was developing her detective skills.

Somebody had been leaving notes in Chanyeon’s locker. Secret admirer notes. Chanyeon wasn’t an expert yet, not by a long shot, but something about the neat handwriting or maybe the diction made her believe that the person leaving the notes was a girl. The thought sent a fuzzy electric feeling through her belly.

The first note had been short, direct. It had been sitting on Chanyeon’s math textbook when she opened her locker—about a month ago, now—and somebody must have slipped it through the slot at the top of the locker door, the one she assumed was built into the metal so that any kid being stuffed into the locker could still breathe in there. Not that anybody did that anymore. She wondered when the last time her school walls had seen a kid being shut up inside a locker. It was probably in the 80s.

Chanyeon had unfolded the note, expecting it to be from Baekhyun despite him never having left her a note in her locker in their lives. It seemed like something he would do. But the note wasn’t from Baekhyun, or at least wasn’t signed as such. It was written on lined paper torn out of a notebook, and it held one sentence in blue pen:

_I think you’re cute._

Chanyeon was hooked.

The second note came on a Thursday afternoon, one week after the first one. Chanyeon’s eyes widened when she saw another piece of folded paper waiting for her when she opened her locker. Her hand shot out to grab the note before Baekhyun, who was chattering away behind her, could notice—but she was too slow.

“What’s that?” Baekhyun asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing,” Chanyeon said quickly.

“Come on,” Baekhyun whined, “let me see.”

Chanyeon knew it would be useless to refuse. Baekhyun wouldn’t let the subject go until he got his way. And anyway, her curiosity about what this note held was too strong to resist. Maybe Baekhyun could help her figure out who was leaving them.

“It’s…a note,” she said. Baekhyun gave her a look that indicated that he knew it was a note, thank-you-very-much.

“Who’s it from?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_? What’s the point—” his eyes widened suddenly. His smile stretched across his face.

“You mean to say,” he asked in a smug voice, “that this is a secret admirer note?”

“ _Keep it down_ ,” Chanyeon said in a hushed voice.

“Oh my god, it is. What does it say!”

Chanyeon unfolded the second note slowly, glancing around to see if anybody was watching. Two sentences this time. The same handwriting. The same blue pen.

_I saw you play last night. You were great._

Chanyeon felt her heart jump. It was hockey season for her high school’s team, and Chanyeon played forward. Last night the team had played at their local arena against another school. Chanyeon had scored the winning goal against their impressive goalie. Her coach had clapped her on the back and awarded her the title of the game’s MVP. She bit her lip to try to hide her smile.

“I can’t believe this,” Baekhyun said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Have you gotten any others?”

“Just one.”

Chanyeon unzipped the front pocket of her backpack and removed the first note from where she had been keeping it. She handed it to Baekhyun, whose eyes took in the single sentence before snapping up to meet Chanyeon’s.

“Oh my _god_.”

“I know.”

“But…it could be anyone. I mean, anyone who went to your game last night.”

At this point, Chanyeon had already thought about every possibility. This second note threw some new light on the situation. Chanyeon’s working theory had been that, since the note-leaver clearly knew where Chanyeon’s locker was, the most likely suspects were amongst her friends. Baekhyun was automatically ruled out. Jongdae was scratched off the list soon after, which mainly left her hockey teammates.

But, well, if the note-leaver had been a _spectator_ at the previous night’s game, then that would mean that they weren’t on her team at all. Now she was out of friends to pin the label of “suspect” on; this, of course, meant that she had to widen her pool of suspects to include everyone in her high school. That was over one thousand students.

“You’re right,” she said to Baekhyun, slightly put out. “It _could_ be anyone.”

“Hey,” he replied in his usual cheerful tone, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna help you figure out exactly who it is.”

Chanyeon finished stuffing her homework haphazardly into her backpack, closed her locker with a metallic clang, and drove the metal bolt of the lock home.

“How are you going to do that?” she asked. Baekhyun shrugged.

“I don’t know yet.”

**

“Great game,” Baekhyun said enthusiastically, slapping Chanyeon on her sweaty back.  
She had yet to towel off or even change out of her pads and jersey. Actually, she had just hobbled off the ice a moment ago, and Baekhyun was in the change room. He wasn’t allowed to be in the change room. That didn’t seem to be stopping him.

An hour of fast-paced play had left Chanyeon’s hockey team victorious in their home game. Chanyeon collapsed onto the nearest bench and removed her helmet. The room smelled like concrete and sweat and the cool bite of the rink. She reached for a towel to rub through her helmet-hair.

“Thanks,” she replied, and smiled mischievously before lowering her voice. “I know you were really here to watch Yixing, though.”

Baekhyun made an indignant noise and quickly looked around to ensure Yixing was nowhere to be seen. Chanyeon knew he wouldn’t have been in the change room quite yet. He was always the last off the ice, making sure to thank his opponents for the game.

A few minutes later Yixing entered the change room at the same time as their team’s coach. Baekhyun tensed up, but Chanyeon didn’t know if it was because of Yixing or for fear that the coach would kick him out of the change room. Their coach, in fact, did a bit of a double take upon seeing Baekhyun, but he was relaxed enough not to mention it—this wasn’t the first time that Baekhyun had been in their dressing room, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Chanyeon’s coach was a kind man who was well respected at her high school, where he doubled as a gym teacher. This was mostly because he didn’t care if the freshman, who were obligated to be there, slacked off, and he was a proponent of positive reinforcement. His pep talk was short after their win. He congratulated Chanyeon on an impressive goal, and her face shone with pride (and sweat).

When their coach left them to get changed, Baekhyun leaned in to Chanyeon.

“Listen,” he said quietly, “Whoever is leaving notes in your locker said they’ve seen you play, right?”

“Yeah,” she replied, unlacing her skates.

“ _So_ , I was here for research purposes. I spent the whole time looking at the crowd, trying to see who was _particularly_ into the game, you know, and if I recognized them from school.”

Chanyeon raised her eyebrows at Baekhyun.

“Okay,” he admitted, “I spent half the time looking at Yixing. But I’m serious. I think I’ve got some suspects.” He counted them off on his fingers. “There’s Kevin Yang, that emo guy who wears his hair in his face? He seems like the type, right? Or—hear me out—Dylan Eales, I know he’s kind of an idiot, but he was watching _really_ intently. ” 

“I don’t know…I mean, isn’t Kevin dating that girl who wears her cosplay to school?”

“Oh shit, you’re right. Okay, cross him off the list. What about Matt Fletcher?”

Chanyeon glanced around. Her teammates were in various states of undress, and she wasn’t really supposed to be in here anymore. As the only girl on the team, Chanyeon was used to changing in bathroom stalls and janitors closets, passing through the change room only to grab her stuff. She lowered her voice.

“Hey, thank you for helping, really, but I just don’t think any of those guys could be the note-leaver.”

“How come?” Baekhyun said. He looked put out.

“I just—” Chanyeon began, but stopped short. “Let me change first, okay? We can talk after.”

Baekhyun protested, but Chanyeon was already making a beeline for the door, looking straight down at her feet. She turned around to shrug in apology and happened to catch Yixing approaching Baekhyun.

“Hey, Baekhyun,” Yixing said warmly. He went in for one of those bro-hugs. Chanyeon saw Baekhyun tense up just a little, but he played it off well.

Chanyeon smiled to herself all the way down the cinderblock hallway to the janitor’s closet. Maybe Baekhyun would be so busy gushing about Yixing he would forget about her note-leaver for the night.

Her smile faltered when she opened the door to the musty closet for the second time that evening. At least it had enough room to maneuver in.

** 

Chanyeon was a tomboy. She had been playing hockey since she was able to pick up a stick, and she had practiced her slapshots against the garage door until she had dented it so bad that her father finally bought her a net to practice with. She kept her hair shorter than most of the boys on her team (and no, she didn’t let it grow into a mullet during game season). The last time she wore a dress was for a family photo when she was six years old, and she had cried so hard that her parents had let her change into her corduroy slacks and button-down shirt.

She had liked girls as far back as she could remember, too. At first she didn’t realize she was feeling or thinking anything different. She didn’t recognize that the strong pull she felt for Lola Bunny from Space Jam or her relentless romancing of girl characters in video games had anything to do with _real life_.

It was during puberty that Chanyeon realized what should have been obvious for her whole life. Those years of acne and being taller than any of her classmates—“too tall for a girl”, she had been told—well, at least they had held one thing of value. She felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. It wasn’t that she was _bad_ at being a girl, and she wasn’t _wrong_ for not having had any crushes on the boys in her class. She was just looking for something else.

She had never told anybody. Not officially. She was pretty sure that her parents knew, and maybe her teammates did, too. She couldn’t tell if most people knew, unless they were women like her; older butches with immaculate shaved hair and muscles filling out white T-shirts, or androgynous girls who smiled at her across the bus, or femmes whose confident eye contact told Chanyeon they were dressed up for _her_.

So, no, she hadn’t told anyone, but sometimes she didn’t have to. There was something unspoken about the way she carried herself. It was the same unspoken thing that made her feel certain that it was a girl leaving her notes in her locker. She couldn’t pinpoint how she knew—she just did.

**

“Isn’t this weird? Like, this is totally weird, right?”

Jongdae directed the question to both Chanyeon and Baekhyun. The three of them were seated in the same place they had been eating lunch for the past three years: a small, wood-paneled alcove just off the school’s atrium. Baekhyun had claimed it in ninth grade, and whether it was because the other kids respected this claim, or, more likely, they thought Baekhyun and his friends were a little weird, nobody ever tried to move in on their turf unless they were invited in. Invitees included Chanyeon’s hockey teammates and occasionally Jongdae’s theatre friends. 

Today, though, the three of them were alone in the alcove. Chanyeon had just finished explaining the Saga of the Notes to Jongdae, who was reacting exactly how she expected him to. Baekhyun was busy eating his lunch, face completely neutral, immune to any weirdness. Chanyeon hesitated for a moment before making a noncommittal gesture to Jongdae.

“Maybe…” she allowed. “But it’s pretty charming, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s cool,” Baekhyun said. “This is some romantic movie shit, don’t you think?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Jongdae replied. “Just because it works in movies—”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could be _killed_?”

“Okay, you have a point there, _but_ —”

“It’s not like we’ve had a conversation,” Chanyeon said, cutting off the boys’ argument. She shifted in her seat and pulled at the hem of her oversized hoodie. “We’re not even planning to meet. She hardly has the opportunity to kill me.”

Baekhyun and Jongdae were staring at her. Why were they staring?

“She?” Baekhyun asked.

 _Oh_. Chanyeon felt her ears heat up. She quickly cast her eyes down at her lunch. This was _not_ how she had intended to come out to her friends, or to anybody.

“Is—hey, Chanyeon, calm down. You look like a cherry tomato,” Baekhyun said. He lowered his voice. “Is that why you said none of the guys I picked were right? Because you were looking for a girl?”

Chanyeon, who had covered her face with her hands, was smiling like a fool now.

“I can’t believe this,” she said, mostly to herself. _I can’t believe I came out by accident_. 

“Why didn’t you _tell me_?” Baekhyun asked, but then he corrected his tone. “I mean, sorry, you didn’t have to—you have every right not to—”

“Uh, yeah,” Jongdae chimed in. “Thanks for telling us. You know, for trusting us. That’s really cool.”

Chanyeon could feel a giddy laughter building up somewhere around her sternum, and she just couldn’t hold it anymore. Baekhyun and Jongdae laughed too, and Chanyeon felt amazing, a little lightheaded with relief and pride and still flushed red.

“We already figured, anyway,” Baekhyun said. Jongdae nodded knowingly. This sent Chanyeon into a fresh wave of giggles.

“Well, yeah, okay. I’m—” Chanyeon took a short breath and tried to project a confident attitude. She still managed to lower her voice on the tail end of saying “I’m gay,” but she supposed she could let herself off the hook this time. After all, it was her first time saying it out loud. 

“So,” Baekhyun asked, inching closer. “Do you have any idea who she is?”

“No.” Chanyeon shook her head. “Besides, weren’t _you_ supposed to be helping me?”

“Sure, but it’s tough work. I guess you narrowed it down to one gender, though.”

“Wait,” Jongdae interrupted, “how come you think it’s a girl?”

Chanyeon didn’t have the words to explain it to herself, let alone somebody else. 

“I don’t know,” she mused. “Just…trust me on this one.”

**

Baekhyun was convinced he would die of boredom if he had to sit in his history class for much longer. He had already pulled out all the stops—doodling in the margins of his notes, daydreaming about Yixing, and trying to text Chanyeon (who wasn’t texting back). He still felt like the half hour he had left to endure was impossible. He was down to his last defense: asking for the bathroom pass.

His history teacher, monotone and oblivious, didn’t think twice when Baekhyun raised his hand and politely asked for the pass, which was a six-inch figurine of Napoleon Bonaparte. Baekhyun was free. At least, for the next five minutes. He decided to do a lap of the top floor before heading back to class.

The halls were empty. As Baekhyun walked he peeked into the tiny windows in the classroom doors and saw teachers he recognized, and some he didn’t. Madame Dupont, their intimidating French teacher, was writing on the blackboard. Baekhyun sped up before she could notice him. Mr. Peters was talking with hands, like usual, trying to keep a class of ninth graders’ attention long enough to learn _something_ about biology. He heard pumping bass from the direction of the dance studio and wondered if Yixing’s dance class was this period or next.

Baekhyun was just wondering if he could snag Yixing’s number from Chanyeon, and whether or not that would be weird, when he happened upon the only other person wandering the second floor hallways. She was about Baekhyun’s height, with black hair that fell thick and straight to her shoulders, thick dark eyebrows, and horn-rimmed glasses. Nothing about her would have particularly stood out if she weren’t standing in front of Chanyeon’s locker and slipping a piece of paper through the slot at the top of the metal door.

“ _You!_ ” Baekhyun hissed, pointing an accusatory finger at the girl. She whipped around and held her hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t—I wasn’t—” she protested, but the girl was clearly caught in the act, and she knew it. Her composure changed then: she took her hands down and crossed them over her chest. Defensive. Standing her ground.

“Listen, Baekhyun,” she started, and Baekhyun furrowed his brow.

“You know my name?” he interrupted.

“Sure I do. We had math together last year.”

“We did?”

“Don’t tell Chanyeon it’s me, okay? Swear to secrecy.” It was a demand rather than a request. She was blushing pink, clearly embarrassed to be caught, but she was hard-faced and determined to get her way as she extended her pinky finger to Baekhyun. He narrowed his eyes.

“And why should I?”

“Just—I want to tell her that I’m the one leaving the notes, but…I’m too nervous. If you tell her now it’ll ruin everything. Please.”

Baekhyun’s smile crept across his face. When he considered it, this whole situation could be _very_ fun. Why should he ruin it? Plus, he liked this girl and her determination already. He reached out his pinky and interlaced it with hers.

“Okay, I swear I won’t tell her. You know what? I’ll even go further. I’ll help you.”

It was the girl’s turn to narrow her eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I have a good feeling about you,” Baekhyun said with a smile. She smiled tentatively back. Her eyes darted from their pinky-promise to Baekhyun’s other hand.

“Why are you holding a small figurine of Napoleon Bonaparte?” she asked.

“Oh, shit,” Baekhyun muttered. He separated his hand from hers. “I have to get back to class. But we’ll talk later.”

He began walking the opposite way down the hallway, back in the direction he had come from, but stopped suddenly and spun around to face the girl again.

“What’s your name?”

“Kyungsoon Do,” she called down the hall.

**

During hockey season Chanyeon had games twice or three times a week, and keeping up with her schoolwork on top of this was almost enough to push secret admirers out of her head. Almost, but not quite.

She hadn’t found any notes in two weeks. That was twice the amount of time between the first and second notes, and she was starting to wonder if her secret admirer had simply given up. At the same time, she couldn’t help but imagine different elaborate scenarios involving her and the note-leaver encountering each other in some romantic meet-cute. She also eyed each of the girls in her classes and made a most-to-least likely list of suspects.

It was probably somebody really shy, Chanyeon thought. Otherwise they would have just talked to her face-to-face. Outgoing people like Maddie Tran, who was one of those people to strike up conversations with anybody, were closer to the bottom of the list for this reason. Anybody with a boyfriend was excluded from the list altogether—it was possible, Chanyeon guessed, but not probable. But maybe the note-leaver was a lower year girl. In that case, Chanyeon was much less equipped to guess who it was. She hardly knew any of their names, let alone their personalities.

Baekhyun was being surprisingly unhelpful. Chanyeon would go as far as saying that he shot down every one of her ideas, and for seemingly no reason. When they hung out in Baekhyun’s basement after school Chanyeol would bounce the names of various girls off him.

“You really think it could be her?” he would say. “Nah, there’s no way.”

“Why couldn’t it be, though?” Jongdae asked.

He didn’t understand the pointed glances Baekhyun shot at him.

“At least Jongdae’s on my side here,” Chanyeon said, somewhat put out. 

**

“You gotta make a move, dude.”

Baekhyun took a long sip from his vanilla milkshake and looked across the Formica table at Kyungsoon. The little diner was kind of grungy, but that didn’t stop half the students from their high school from hanging out there. Baekhyun recognized all of the kids sitting at tables today. He used to pride himself on knowing everyone in their grade, but ever since he realized he had had an entire class with Kyungsoon and failed to recognize her, he had revoked his own title.

“You think?” Kyungsoon asked. Baekhyun nodded.

“Chanyeon keeps this list of girls that she suspects. I keep trying to lead her off the trail, but I think she’s getting mad at me. If you don’t act soon we might have an actual fight.”

Kyungsoon smiled.

“Well, I appreciate you doing all this for me.”

“Please,” Baekhyun said with a wave of his hand. “It’s fun.”

“Would she ever…think it was me?”

“She definitely has no idea who you are.”

“Oh, uh, I figured. But I pass her in the hallways sometimes. I don’t know.” 

Kyungsoon looked away. She untucked a strand of hair from behind her ear before tucking it right back.

“Hey,” Baekhyun said gently. “Are you worried she won’t like you?”

“Yeah,” Kyungsoon said quietly. She fiddled with the sleeves of her sweater, pulling them down over her hands. She still hadn’t met Baekhyun’s eyes.

“Well,” Baekhyun said, “ I’m her best friend, and _I_ like you. That must be a sign, right?”

Kyungsoon smiled a bit. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I’m not her type.”

“You never know if you don’t try, man! C’mon.” Baekhyun held up his milkshake in a toast. “You got this.”

Kyungsoon considered for a moment. She bit her lip, then nodded once with a determined expression. She held her own strawberry milkshake up and clinked the glass against Baekhyun’s.

“I’ve got this,” she said.

**

_Meet me after your game tonight. I’ll be the one holding a red rose._

Baekhyun had expected nothing less than Chanyeon’s landslide victory that night, especially after Chanyeon admitted that she was going to tuck her admirer’s note into the pocket of her base layer leggings while she played. A good luck charm. It must have worked, too.

When Baekhyun popped his head into the men’s change room he expected to see Chanyeon unlacing her skates. She wasn’t in there, though—it was just a bunch of guys. Baekhyun cursed. He had spent a precious few minutes trying to reassure Kyungsoon that she was doing the right thing, he promised, and he must have just missed Chanyeon on her way to the janitor’s closet.

He sprinted out of the change room and rounded the corner. He was still running outright when his foot caught on something he hadn’t seen, and as he tumbled through the air he found himself sending out a silent prayer that Kyungsoon would find Chanyeon without his help, as he was evidently about to be put out of commission when he smacked face first into the concrete floor.

He didn’t hit the floor, though. He was gathered up in strong arms, literally swept off his feet, and he had barely realized what had happened by the time it registered somewhere in his brain that he was staring into Yixing’s smiling face.

“Watch your step,” Yixing said. His hair was fluffy against his forehead and his biceps bulged in a white t-shirt.

Baekhyun stared, wide-eyed. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Some part of him noted that Chanyeon and Jongdae would have given anything to see Baekhyun rendered speechless. And, oh, right, _Chanyeon_.

“Um,” Baekhyun started eloquently. “Thanks. I was just…looking for Chanyeon.”

Yixing was still smiling that gentle smile at him. He was still holding Baekhyun _in his arms_. He helped Baekhyun right himself and Baekhyun mourned the loss of his grip—but he had to focus, Baekhyun thought, shaking his head. His eyes darted down to Yixing’s lips, then back to his eyes.

“I have to…go. But, um. I’ll see you later?”

Yixing giggled. An honest-to-god giggle.

“Definitely,” he said, and if Baekhyun hadn’t started jogging away from Yixing at that point he was sure he would’ve stayed rooted to that spot forever, just watching him smile.

He came across Kyungsoon as he tore past the concession stand.

“There you are!” she said frantically. “I was freaking out, I didn’t know where you or Chanyeon were—”

“She’s changing in the janitor’s closet. She can’t change with the other guys.”

“Oh,” Kyungsoon said. “Right. Okay.”

“Come with me,” Baekhyun said, grabbing Kyungsoon’s hand and pulling her along at a jog.

 

 

There was a knock on the door just as Chanyeon was pulling her sweater over her head.  
“Hold on Jeff, I’m almost done,” she called out to the janitor who was no doubt waiting to grab his mop. Probably another vomit incident. Chanyeon grimaced at the thought. Slinging her equipment bag over her shoulder and grabbing her stick, she pushed open the heavy wooden door.

“Sorry, Jeff—” she began, but instead of the wizened face she was expecting she was met with a girl about her age standing expectantly. She had dark hair, thick brows, and horn-rimmed glasses. Much younger than Jeff. Much, _much_ cuter.

“Sorry, I, uh—did you need in here?” Chanyeon asked stupidly. She felt her cheeks flush.

“No,” the girl said, and she had a deep honey voice. Chanyeon swallowed thickly. The girl smiled then, and it was the most beautiful smile Chanyeon had ever seen.

“I was looking for you,” the girl said.

It was at that exact moment that Chanyeon remembered the note. She had actually been _distracted_ by her win, her receiving the title of MVP, and the rush to change. She felt like she was floating, suddenly, like she was in that space between sleep and waking where everything was fuzzy and just sliding past the edge of her consciousness.

“You...are you…?”

“I’m the one who’s been leaving you notes in your locker, yes,” the girl said. She was blushing just slightly. And then she took her hand from behind her back, revealing a single red rose, and Chanyeon’s smile burst across her face.

“My name’s Kyungsoon Do, and I really like you, Chanyeon—I mean, you already knew that. But. Um.”

Chanyeon forgot that she smelled like the distinctive sour smell of hockey sweat, or maybe she just didn’t care, when she asked if she could hug Kyungsoon. She quickly said yes. Chanyeon dropped her gear bag and stick onto the concrete floor and took a step forward. The top of Kyungsoon’s head came to Chanyeon’s collarbone, and Chanyeon couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her when she wrapped her arms around Kyungsoon’s slight shoulders and Kyungsoon held Chanyeon’s waist.

“Thank you,” Kyungsoon said quietly. She stepped away and even though she was smiling, she wrinkled her nose. “You smell really bad, though.”

Chanyeon barked a laugh, taking an extra step back from Kyungsoon.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Kyungsoon said, and she laughed too. The two girls stood several feet away from each other in the chilly concrete hallway beaming for a moment before Kyungsoon spoke again.

“Do you want to get a milkshake with me?”

“I’d love to,” Chanyeon replied. “But maybe I should shower first. I can pick you up at six?”

Kyungsoon nodded quickly.

“Can I…put my number in your phone?” she asked slowly. “I’ll text you my address.”

“Yeah, sure, uh—”

Chanyeon dug her phone out of the pocket of her sweatpants. She swapped phones with Kyungsoon, punching in her contact information. It took Chanyeon a couple tries to type everything in correctly; her hands were shaking a little. When the phones were returned to their rightful owners the two of them looked at each other in the empty hallway, and they were both flushed. Chanyeon gave Kyungsoon a toothy grin. Kyungsoon returned it with a beautiful smile of her own. 

“I’ll see you at six, then,” Kyungsoon said.

“Can’t wait.”

“Me, neither.”

After a few more moments of eye contact, Kyungsoon turned to leave, offering a final wave to Chanyeon. Chanyeon looked down at her phone, at the new contact, and then back at Kyungsoon’s retreating figure. She sent a message immediately:

    :~)!!

Kyungsoon’s laugh echoed against the cinderblock walls from down the hallway. Chanyeon’s phone notified her of a message soon after:

    (^:

**

A year later, to the day, Chanyeon was driving. Her equipment bag was tossed in the back of her Subaru. She was wearing a white t-shirt and black athletic pants, her left arm resting on the edge of the window with the other confidently on the wheel, and she sang along to a pop song on the radio as she made a left turn onto the quiet subdivision street.

Chanyeon didn’t have to shoot Kyungsoon a text to let her know she had pulled into her parent’s driveway, and she didn’t have to honk the horn, because Kyungsoon was already rushing out of the door. She must have been waiting. Watching for Chanyeon’s car through the window. She was a vision in her puffy winter coat, and she climbed into the passenger seat, throwing a smile sideways at her girlfriend.

At the arena, Kyungsoon cheered the loudest when Chanyeon’s slapshot sent the puck into the oppositions net, winning the game for her college’s women’s hockey team. Chanyeon’s teammates surrounded her, laughing and cheering, and Chanyeon felt like she was on top of the world.

Chanyeon showered and changed in the dressing room with the other women. After their coach had finished her post-game talk, Chanyeon rushed out into the lobby to find Kyungsoon waiting for her, beaming. She gathered Kyungsoon into a tight hug. Kyungsoon pressed a kiss to Chanyeon’s cheek. They interlaced their fingers and made their way towards Chanyeon’s car, on their way to their dinner date. 

Chanyeon was glad, for the umpteenth time this semester, to have gotten out of that godforsaken janitor’s closet.


End file.
